Positions of the Candidates on Salient Human Rights Issues

This is a table that documents the candidates’ positions on assorted domestic and international human rights issues, was made for internal purposes at UCSB’s wing of Amnesty International, with which I’m affiliated. Murphy saw me working on it the other day and urged me to throw it on here since I hadn’t posted in a bit, so here goes.

Now, the caveats.

-Barack Obama has said a lot of stuff about a lot of things. McCain, not as much. Having to dig through reams of information and find his positions on issues was thus a little difficult. My worry is that some of his positions might be misrepresented. McCain has, for instance, voted against a number of bills that are generally regarded as pro-women’s rights, but because I didn’t examine the entirety of his legislative record, and because the sources I was forced to use for 2 or 3 of the issues were lightly agenda’d, it’s possible that he may appear more extreme then he actually is. (The chart still captures their fundamental policy orientations rather accurately in my view, though)

-The space I had to work with (1 page, double sided) did not afford much room for nuance. So don’t expect any examination of the merits of soft power vs. hard power in foreign relations or anything.

Anyway, regardless of the flaws, it might make for some interesting reading and definitely tends to crystallize further the nature of their division.

Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?: The Pro-Obama Argument From A Younger Generation.

In order to make ends meet in these challenging financial times, I have begun tutoring kids and teaching SAT prep classes on the weekends for a company in San Diego. This weekend I worked with a very bright fifth grade boy on his writing (I have no idea why his parents are making him go to tutoring on the weekends– it just makes his bored in class for the rest of the week– but that is a discussion for another time). When I gave him the “opportunity”  to write a paragraph about anything he wanted, he chose to write about why Barack Obama is a good leader. His father is an Obama supporter and they have been watching the news coverage and debates together. Once he had decided on that topic, he was considerably less sullen about the task and I was pleased as well. I tried not to let my politics show too much, though; I’ve been running into people of various political leanings in my work and life lately and I figured it may be unprofessional. So, I resisted the urge to pull out my “Hope”, “Change”, and “Obama/Biden” stickers to help him decorate his paragraph and let him do it on his own. Here are his thoughts on why Barack Obama is a good leader.

“I believe Obama is a good leader. He is friendly and a peace-builder. Plus, he voted for wealth for everyone. Also, he is a great rolemodel. He is a self-confident man that is able to explain problems or things so easily even a baby could understand. He also wants to stop the useless war (that Bush started) in Iraq. But the problem with both candidates is that they do not explain who Joe the Plumber or Joe Sixpack is. If Obama wins he’ll be a great leader.”

Sounds good to me! I’ll see you all on November 4th.

algorithmic analysis

You have eight identical keys. One is heavier than the rest. Using nothing but a balance, what is the most efficient way to find it?

Solutions:

The most obvious answer is to split the keys into four groups of two, weigh each set individually, and in a maximum of four attempts you’ll have your answer. A rung above is the divide and conquer approach.  Split the keys into two groups of four on the balance, take the heavier four, split them in half, determine which two are heavier then weigh them against each other. Same answer, three steps, but it can be done in two. You split the keys into three groups, two sets of three and one set of two. Put the groups of three on the balance, if they are equal weigh the two remaining balls against each other. If they are not equal, balance two keys from the heavier side and take the third one out,  if one is heavier you have your key, if they balance you know the one left over is the heaviest.

The applied principle exploits the additional information provided by the balance. By splitting the keys into three groups and comparing two of them we can infer the state of the third. So the balance provides three pieces of information instead of two. In the worst case using this additional piece of information will always be 33% more efficient.

Demo (executable)

Demo (java Source)

Medical Ethics

I was sitting at the smoking benches with another boy who was rambling about something as I was tuning him out. We both didn’t have lighter, but had cigarettes. I was beginning to become frustrated with him because he is associated with people who I do not favor much and was asking me my views on so-and-so and then telling me his own views.

Then an older gentleman showed up holding a cigar while wearing cargo shorts and a theater shirt. It was apparent that he wasn’t a professor but I got that feeling that he had seen a lot in his life. I politely asked him if I could use a match of his and he replied in a very gentle manner.

This man’s name is Stewart and I would put him up at about sixty years plus, a little over weight, and he had a jolly sense to him. He was losing his hair and had a full beard that was completely white. I instantly liked him.

I asked him if he was taking a theater arts class here and he said yes. We discussed for a few moments about how the class is, and how he enjoys the interactions he receives along with the task of memorizing lines and rehearsals. I asked him what his profession was seeing how he wasn’t taking any other classes but just the one for fun.

It turns out that he is a retired psychiatrist and worked down in L.A. for the majority of his career. I am assuming that he did well for himself if he can retire in Santa Barbara and have a happy life taking theater art classes while smoking nice cigars. We then began the topic of medical professions. I asked him where he went to school and it turns out he studied over seas in Europe. I asked him how the classes were over there because I have thought about studying over seas. He said that the classes were one exam, no homework, and the exam was oral. You had three questions. If you missed on question you failed the class. If you fail a class, you fail for the entire year. So the pressure was on, but he passed with high marks. I envy him.

It must have been apparent that I was engaging heavily into the conversation because he then directed towards me. He asked me what I was studying, and where I wanted to go, and why I was studying that. I began to ramble off on how I thought about doing pharmacology but one, I don’t like pharmacokinetics because it’s boring as shit, and two, standing behind a counter from nine to five shelling out drugs to the elderly doesn’t seem like it’d be as much fun as I had thought. I then told him that I wanted to get into surgery. He asked me what field. I told him that I wasn’t sure but I’m thinking about doing orthopedics, being as the demand for them is high with the mass amount of older people we have, and that I feel there is a lesser chance of getting my ass sued for some dumbfuck getting upset that I caused him to go retarded. He laughed full heartedly at this.

I also told him that I would like to go to Seattle to finish up my undergraduate work, or stay here seeing how the science field at UCSB is stellar, and then transferring to Hopkin’s for their medical program if I can get in. He admired my high goals and I told him one of my favorite quotes:

“Shoot for a gold, and you may end with a silver, shoot for a silver, and you may end with a bronze, shoot for a bronze, well you might as well not compete.”

I then told him that I was afraid that my ethics and morals might diminish the further into my career I go. The majority of people tell me that I should be a doctor seeing how I am seemingly caring and passionate about people. He told me that more doctors need to be that way and how he is shocked that even in his field of study there were very few who were caring. We agreed that this is a person’s life in your hands, and they trust you. There needs to be a certain level of comfort so the patient is more willing.

I told him about a certain documentary that I had watched about genetics and gays being related. There has been, and still are, studies that in gay men, a certain part of the brain seems more swollen as opposed to heterosexual men. He told me that he wasn’t sure if he believed that, and it seemed more like a publicity move rather than a scientific one. I told him my fear of if this is true, people will stop it and start playing God.

We both agreed that in the common hands of society, the role of God should not be played. At least when it comes to choosing their sexuality. This is where the medical ethics started to come into play. We held a discussion on this sole topic for about half an hour and we both came to the same conclusion. He said that if both partners have a dominant gene of a horrible disease, and if there is a way to stop the child from having it, then yes, matters should be taken. But if the child is going to be homosexual or heterosexual, that is left for the child to choose. He also stated that it isn’t a fact that the child WILL be homosexual, but rather it just tells you the chances of it happening. I found it interesting and then brought up the topic of freezing eggs from women who are sterile.

Most women use three eggs. If the first egg is a success, what do you do with the other two? Do you keep them, which comes at a hefty price, or do you discard of them, or do you use them for research? It is difficult for many husbands and wives to come to a clear conclusion, and there is much controversy over it. Being in the science field himself, we both agreed that they should be used for medical research.

We finished up the conversation formally introducing ourselves to one another, and coming to the conclusion that the majority of people are stupid as fuck. He told me not to worry too much about medical ethics now, but it is something that I will have to face on a day to day basis once I start my career. It makes me want to think twice about my choice of professions.

The Dude Effect and The Bitch Effect

Mob mentality is a pretty well documented phenomemonon.  I wonder though, how many studies have been done specifically on male vs female mob mentality, or as I would like to call it the dude effect and the bitch effect.

I’ve passed through my fair share of social groups, from choir nerds, to engineers, a fraternity, or simply an old group of friends.  One thing they all have in common is that despite various stereotypes they all act the same once you get enough of them together.  I think inherently all men enjoy essentially the same things, women, booze, boozing with women, having a penis, crass jokes, being hairy, long johns, firehats, you know the usual.  When you get a group together of men, no matter what type of individual they are, men just want to be men.  Often the behavior is dictated by the most dominant man, who often also could be the biggest douchebag, goofiest, ridiculous, or outgoing of the bunch.  A fraternity is the best example as that is essentially a group of men getting together to celibrate being men.  The result is lots of alcohol, objectification of women, and endless gay jokes.  I think we should embrace this for what it is.  It’s a beautiful thing, to bring men together, bro down, and just act like a bunch of dudes.

On the other hand there are women.  Women are inherently very competitive with each other.  Probably the whole limited number of eggs deal.  Either way, most groups of women are fraught with infighting and bickering.  They have to have very strict rules lest they be unfair.  Friendships turn into hatred at the flick of a wrist, and sometimes reverse that course just as quickly.  If they can come together long enough they similarly will follow the most dominant girl.  Unfortunately, as in the situation with men, dominance is not necessarily a sign of intelligence or a particularly good leadership quality.  To hopefully alleviate some backlash from women I won’t name specifically the traits I’m thinking of but if you look at sororities or various other women’s clubs I’m sure you can guess what I may say.

We’re all so predictable, yet we still can’t really understand each other.  Damnit.

Why prevent it, just throw some drugs at it!

I doubt many people care about obesity, heart disease, and diabetes… I sure don’t.  But have you ever just been curious as to what research is going on in the field?  Mainly diabeetus.  Turns out they spend lots of money and media coverage trying to cure type two, the one that is exploding due to obesity. Type two is even referred to as the diabeetus, disregarding the other one. Eff that. (Yeah yeah, old people and smokers and other stuff makes it come about, but I have charts and graphs.)

See? They clearly are linked.

More fabricated proof.

Now I’m sure there’s other factors, but if something is largely linked to being a fattie – with research to back it up – then why throw money and medication at them when they need salads and a brisk walk? Maybe I’m a little biased, maybe I just have it out for obese people. But if you can prevent something and increase the quality of life… why not?

Tyrone’s Top Ten: Ways McCain can Spin Calling Obama the “N-Word”.

By now everyone has heard about how John McCain has famously called Senator Barrack Obama ‘an ignorant nigger’ at the conclusion of the third and final presidential debate of 2008. And while I am wishing and hoping that this spells a quick end to McCunt’s presidential bid, I think that John McCain can find a way to spin this incident in such a way to bring him back into a positive light with the American people. Here are the Top Ten arguments, responses and excuses the McCain/Palin campaign can use to make a come back after “Nigger-Gate 2008″.

10. John McCain is from a different era in a American history, if you disagree with him you are an ageist and you’ve forgotten your roots.

9. After being tortured Senator McCain has learned the hard way that sticks and stones might break his bones, but words will never hurt him. Perhaps one day when Senator Obama is older and has spent more time outside of his ivory tower he will learn this lesson as well.

8. The Obama campaign and their supporters in the mainstream liberal media elite need to give up on this endless barrage of manufactured outrage and make this an election about the REAL issues.

7. Well, there are black people, and then there are NIGGERS, John has already spoken his beliefs. They are protected by the Constitution of the United States of America.

6. “The real racism is that THEY can say that word and WE can’t!”

5. Senator John McCain is a good old American boy, who was in a prison camp in Vietnam for 5 years, during that time his evil commie captors never allowed him any access to racial sensitivity training.

4. McCain made a simple, unfortunate misstep in his speech. he had meant to call Obama a “dirty rag headed Muslim terrorist faggot who would strap on a vest and bomb your children if he could get Bill Ayers’s cock out of his ass long enough.”

3. My friends, I regret my words and apologize. I will not use that word again, and rest assured that my vice president Sarah Palin has never used that word in fact I doubt she even knows how to spell it.

2. What Senator McCain meant to say was that Obama is niggardly, as in cheap and miserly. Barrack Obama does not tip his waitresses.

1. “Obama lets a single word get under his skin. How can we expect him to stand up to people who want to kill us?”

So few words

It’s amazing how few words it can take to completely destroy a mood or situation.  For me tonight it went from euphoric to scared shitless in a mere 7 alphanumeric characters.  Every day I find it harder and harder to trust people.  It’s a frustrating and sad situation.  So many synonyms.  Power, winner, dominant, leader.  It’s what everyone strives for throughout life.  It only makes sense to try to take control of your life however you can.  But I think every so often someone comes along who has a true sense of empathy.  But it’s so rare it’s not worth the detail.  So much of life is spent trying to figure out what is true, what a waste.

Jones Octavian Victimized By Brutal Penis Accident

For those who haven’t heard the word ‘fap’ before (some haven’t) it is slang for masturbation.  Like with your genitals.   

So I began a fap session after a long, tiring day and decided to use some lube.  There wasn’t anything great on hand, but I found some conditioner that would fit the bill.  Sweet.  I whipped out Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus (called Augustus from this point on) and tried it out. It was fine, and might even be superior to lotion, the last bastion of teh improvised fap. The problem was it dried out FAST. A couple minutes fast. So I had to re-apply a couple of times.  The third time, disaster struck.  

The bottle had one of those little rocking clicky-valves so a little opening on one side would open and close with a solid and self-sealing click.  As I was closing it, I shifted in my seat and at this point, Augustus decided it would be a good time to reenact one of the Gaul Campaigns, which means he bobbed off in a totally unpredicted direction,  straight towards that closing maw of the bottle.  That little plastic fucker grabbed at part of my head and pinched it, then closed all the way. And it HURT, so reflex kicks in (damn those instincts) I moved the bottle as far away from poor Augustus as fast as possible…the squeamish should stop reading now.  

AND RIPPED AWAY A CHUNK OF MY HEAD WITH IT.  

YES, THE HEAD OF MY PENIS, THE PENIS GLANS.

 YES, BY CHUNK I MEAN I COULD SEE PART OF MY PENIS ATTACHED TO THE BOTTLE THAT WAS NO LONGER ATTACHED TO THE PENIS PROPER.  

For those that didn’t quite get it, or fainted the first time reading it, let me restate it:  

A chunk off the most pain receptive place in my entire body was ripped the fuck off.    

Let me give you a little visual insight into my thought process as this occurred:

1.

 

I think nothing else needs be said here.

2.

 

A penis wrapped in bandages, just like the ibrokemypenis guy.

3.

Surely Nic Cage can help me.

At this point my penis was, in fact, bleeding.  The bit of head skin that was visibly attached to the bottle was also bloody, and clearly absent from the head.  I thought to myself, “I’m sure Nic Cage has intentionally done way worse things to his penis for the sake of method acting. What would he do?”

From the back of my mind, his monotonic and hypnotic voice typical of more his recent (a.k.a. the shitty era) films droned out: “Wash it off and bandage it.”

Thanks Nic Cage, you’re the man.  I owe you one.

 

So the hole in the head wasn’t too large, similar in area to a hard drive jumper header if looked at vertically.  Curious about my prognosis, I looked online and discovered that the glans can totally heal in a matter of hours (don’t leave that piercing out too long!), which makes me question why evolution has withheld these penis powers from every other body part.  I can only conclude that be it nature or God, both are just as likely to draw a penises on everything as humanity is.

Surprisingly, the internet was telling the truth and it completely healed overnight.  Thank god.  However, a word to anyone with a penis:

Be EVER VIGILANT about your penis’ safety.  A mere zipper is all that stands between your second favorite thing in the universe and a harsh, penis-mutilating reality.

Tipping is NOT Bullshit

Here’s what REALLY goes on:

1.) I am suppose to declare all the tips that I made that night so the government can tax that.

2.) Add this up with also tipping out an expo, busboy, and bartender 10% of the tips you make.

3.) Getting paid minimum wage, and having to declare your tips/tipping out, ends in making NO money whatsoever.

4.) I calculated it out at work, and me claiming all my tips means that I actually OWE the restaurant money. Our shifts are about 4 hours and being paid for 4 hours worth of work at a rate of 8$, is not much money at all. Now subtract about 32 from the 80 and what do you get? You get debt.

I don’t declare all my tips, because if I did I would actually be in debt to the restaurant. And yes, good service is a must, but many company’s who pay their employees for giving good service, are paid more because they don’t make tips.

And working in a restaurant, you get a sense of who will actually tip you and who won’t. And I am sorry if I am being stereotypical, but it’s true that Mexicans, Asians, and Blacks, don’t seem to tip much. Now I understand with the Mexicans and Asians, because over in the Spain the tip is included with the bill. Always. In Asia, there are many places where it is rude to tip. And guess what? These waitresses at these restaurants DON’T give good service whatsoever. They just drop the food off and go back to watching the television that’s there.

As for the black community, I actually had a very nice black family the other night. And it’s a little strange that I didn’t post that before Jones posted his blog. And when this happens it makes me take a step back and take a deep breath and try to look at things in a brighter light. But the majority of the black community that come into our restaurant treat all of us like shit. They look down on all of us.

So I don’t understand where the cultural difference is for the black community. You would figure that they would tip just like the white community. Even ones who have plenty of money and will shell out over $100 dollars for their date, they don’t tip much at all. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to claim supremacy for the white community because we do get our share of people who are white that don’t tip. It just doesn’t happen as often. Rarely actually. If you walk back into a kitchen of a restaurant, and you listen to all the waiters and waitresses, you will hear that the majority of shitty tips comes from mainly non-white people. So it’s not just the experiences that I have had, it’s every single goddamn waiter. A few friends of mine are waiters and they agree. The first thing we ask each other is, “what was their ethnicity?”

And what’s worse about the situation, is that when they see you looking at the paid bill and the change they left you, they laugh. Because it’s normally about four dollars on an $80 bill. They think it’s funny that they are tipping you shit, even when you do get all the orders right, make really good conversation, make jokes, make them laugh, and they even take pictures with you. It baffles me.

But in all honesty, waiters and waitresses remember who gave them a shitty tip. Just keep this in mind when you DO give a shitty tip, unless they deserve it. And many of the times that I get a shitty tip, I DON’T deserve it.

And if you feel that you shouldn’t need to tip at all, then you can just go right back home and make yourself your own goddamn food. So stop coming in and complaining about things when you have the choice to go home and cook for yourself.

Tipping is Bullshit

You know it, I know it, baby jesus knows it, even god damn Mr. Pink knows that tipping is utter fuck.

 
If you were to leave money at an establishment in Japan, the waiter or waitress who discovered it would be severely inconvenienced.  They would quite literally chase after you in a desperate attempt to return the money you mistakingly left on the table.  Money that is surely the only thing keeping your grandmother from being shipped off to the fearsome wasabi mines.  How could a starving serviceperson possibly do such a thing, you ask?  Simple: Their employer actually fucking pays them enough and charges more for the food to make up the losses.  It’s _THAT_  _FUCKING_  _SIMPLE_.

For fuck’s sake, I’m a patron of your business, good service is required without question.  If it’s really bad, I’ll complain to the manager.  If it continues to be bad, I will cease being your patron.  If it ends up being exceptionally good, as in “oh my god, this waiter/waitress hooked me up, I want to give my server some extra cash” good, then sure, I’ll throw some coin their way, and ONLY their way.  None of that splitting with the whole staff clusterfuckery, no subsidizing.  I am NOT responsible for your financial system.  You want me to be your goddamn accountant after every fucking meal?  No.  Add the 20% or whatever the tip bullshit is to your prices and pay your staff properly.  Most countries have a more reasonable system in place, but for whatever reason the U.S. has decided that going retarded is going good.  Hell, I’d stop tipping to fight the system, but then some idiot will just spit in my food instead of growing a pair and taking the blame to the source; their employer.  Better yet, the employers should stop being such giant assholes and upgrade their business model to that of the rest of the first world.

Additionally, paying for shit at restaurants sucks.  Hard.  Every time I have to deal with the check and divide up cash, use a card because someone doesn’t have cash, etc. etc. instead of just waving my RFID-enabled cellphone/wallet/hand over a part of the table, I die a little inside.

In closing, Ho Yu made the point of racially stereotyping black people as cheap.  Unfortunately, this opens her up to racial stereotyping (by me) and I view reduced tipping as just a small step toward balancing out her stereotyped socioeconomic debt.  By that I mean the dozens of traffic accidents she has knowingly or unknowingly caused annually due to being both potently asian and female.  I don’t know of any accidents off hand, but color and gender don’t lie, right everyone?

Room for Rent

So over the past few days, a couple of my room mates have been moving out. Now there are two rooms available. I am suppose to be leading the interviews because as Steve (who is so ancient you probably would think he was from the prehistoric times) puts its, “You are the foxy lady who needs to reel them in so Silvia can stop paying for the girls rent.” Nicely put Steve. Thank you. And immensely creepy might I add.

But I do not know what kind of people should be allowed to live in such a luxurious house. If you have been to my house, or have at least seen it from the outside, you can imagine all the types of people we would be getting to move in. Should it be fem or men? Perhaps one of each. I would rather have two gentlemen move in because I normally get along better with them. Women just pester everyone else about their belongings and how things need to be in some orderly fashion. Steve on the other hand, wants two females to move in. He thinks that it would be much easier to handle as oppose two men.

I will admit, it would be nice if another lady moved in seeing as how I am the only one here right now. I don’t find it comforting or anything of that sort, but I do think that having two girls instead of just one in a primarily guy house would make certain situations a little less uncomfortable. Such as the tampon issue. But that thought in the back of my head will always be there when it pertains to living with women. I have lived with other women before and it was always a disaster. They groan about the things others do, and then turn around and do the exact same thing. They are also extremely passive aggressive leaving notes on the toilet, such as my old room mate did. “Your boyfriend doesn’t live here.”

I am sorry that he left the toilet seat up, but honestly, it takes the same amount of effort to put it up as it does to put it down. You are being lazy. And if it is that big of a problem, you should be able to maturily talk about it with me and polietly ask if I can ask him to put it down after he uses it. It seems so straight forward and so logical. She complained about the dishes, I never used any, but she never did any of her own. This doesn’t seem to be adding up correctly.

And if a spotlessly clean house is what you need, then find another place to live. Or keep your room spotlessly clean and don’t let anyone in it, because god forbid they move a candle slightly to the left or walk in with their shoes on.

But men on the other hand don’t seem to do any cleaning whatsoever. At least the ones who I have lived with. They are loud, obnoxious, and don’t ever seem to know anything about personal space. Although when I had first moved to Santa Barbara, my first room mate who was a man, and who is someone we all know, wasn’t that bad. We got along great.

So should it be men or women? One of each possibly? Some feed back would be wonderful, because everyone is fake during the interviews. Claiming that they are well mannered, clean, and nice people. Until after the first month or so.

And I understand that everyone is different, but from a generalized stand point, I think my thoughts about room mates are valid.

If you can’t afford to tip, don’t go out to eat.

It’s such a simple concept. Why don’t people understand that?

And yes, if you’re wondering, work was difficult tonight. I was pleasant, I got everything you needed, I smiled, I made jokes, I got customers to laugh and indulge to me their life, and overall I should have made over $150 in tips. But I walked out with about a buck over $80.

I went to work forgetting my clock in card, so I had to buy a new one. It’s five dollars. I went to work to be in debt TO work. My first two tables then didn’t want to sit in my section because they wanted a booth instead. In either one, there is a fucking table. That table serves its purpose in a booth or a regular open table.

I was then sat a table of two elderly people who used their senior discount cards and ordered waters and also split their meal. Great. Their bill came out to be about $38, and what did they tip? $2.50

I got a table of fifteen underage childern unsupervised and not only did they make a mess, but they weren’t old enough to order alcohol so their bill never reached above $100. And what was a tip? It came out to be about 7 bucks after they paid. Fantastic.

At the end of the night, I got a group of 25 black people ranging in all sorts of ages. They had just gotten back from a funeral and didn’t make a reservation.

First of all, who in the right mind comes waltzing into a restaurant on a busy Friday night thinking that a party of 25 would be sat in fifteen minutes? Jesus Christ. This may not be a big deal to the majority of people, but when you have a party of 25 black people yelling at you for a solid fifteen minutes it starts to break you down. It’s extremely intimidating. The women are so unbelievably scary. I just don’t understand their mind set of needing to be so needy and pretentious.

Secondly, if you just came back from a funeral, the last thing that should be on your mind is having someone there to wait on your every hand and foot. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve gone to funerals, and after wards I try to treat people especially nice because who knows when they’ll knock off too.

I ended up taking having this party.

For the first twenty minutes they pushed me around making me drag more heavy tables over to their private section and carrying back and forth chairs. My body is exhausted. I kept a smile on my face and was always courteous with them. I called everyone ma’am and sir. They wouldn’t even get out of my way when they clearly saw me dragging a thirty pound table that is about as wide as a desk and a half. Ridiculous. It would’ve been nice if they could at least been somewhat courteous towards me. I am handling your fucking food.

I began to take drink orders. Everyone wanted to be on a separate check. Of course. Because obviously you’re just too incompetent to be able to add 18.0775% to your order. This percent includes the tip and the tax. It’s simple. It’s self explanatory.

And as expected, everyone who wanted to be on a certain bill wasn’t sitting at the same table. Everyone was scattered, and not only does that make it difficult to figure out who ordered what and where it goes, but it makes it difficult to figure out where the fucking bill goes at the end of the night. So I end up having to stand there like an idiot trying to get everyone’s attention while holding about 12 bills. Now add this up with about ten other tables, and you lose your mind.

I have had one other table that had me at tears prior to this one in my two and half years of waiting. It was another party of black people. I don’t know what it is, but they always seem to yell at you, and blame you for things, and try and get everything discounted, and always need your every ounce of attention for the entire hour. It gets difficult. I began to stammer at my words at this party of 25 and before I knew it, I had to leave the party. I just fucking left. I didn’t give a shit anymore. I ended up sitting in the fucking bathroom tears streaking down for about ten minutes trying to figure what the fuck to say to someone who will NOT stop yelling at you, and it’s out of your hands, and you have to keep a smile ever though your body aches and your feet feel swollen. Even if I wanted to say something, I couldn’t. I would get fired. There goes rent. There goes school. There goes life until I can get back on my feet again with a new job.

They demanded a second server. I had gotten everything correct, I had gotten all of their drinks, I placed all of their orders right, got all the bills right, and still handled the other tables that I had. I was so offended by that.

The gratuity ended up being about $40 dollars, but I had to split that. So all that hard work and all that effort that’s worth more than $40 dollars is now only $20. And on top of that, I had to tip the bus boy $10 from that party because he did so much. I made $10 off a fucking party of 25 black people who put me to fucking tears. FUCK THEM.

And like always, they didn’t tip on top of the gratuity. No one ever does. Even when an average person looks at that bill and thinks, “Oh, that seems a little low” they still don’t. And most people seem like that can’t afford to tip. If you can’t afford to tip, if you don’t WANT to tip more than 10% then you fucking shouldn’t be spending $50 for a goddamn meal. I have been so close to handing back the 43 cents left behind on a bill of $48 dollars telling them that it seems like they need this more than I do.

But, I can’t. And it’s unfortunate.

I am going to start spitting in peoples food. I’ve done it with smoothies before, and I just don’t give a fucking shit anymore. Don’t give shit to someone who handles your food. They WILL do something to it. If it drops on the floor, they won’t care. They’ll pick it back up and put it on your plate.

So think again when you go out to eat. Especially if your waitress is a small petite Asian girl who works at E-bar.

municipal messes

I am certainly no environmentalist. I think nature is wonderful, and as a civilization we need to prioritize its preservation, but it is not so simple. Temporarily disregarding the fact that recycling is, for the vast majority of items, total bullshit requiring more input energy and or waste than new manufacture, economic viability is key. It needs to be both temporally and fiscally advantagous. As it stands recylcing is so incredibly inconvienent that it is absurb to expect that the average over burdened american citizen to take the high road over the convience of the trashcan. Sure landfills are disgusting, but that is why they are so far out of town. Businesses, to expound in a grander scope, are social machiens desgined to make as much money as possible. They are intrinsically capitalistic and, as such, amoral. They will not help the environment until their profit margins find it favorable. But I’ve digressed, what I want to talk about is littering.

Littering in the purity of nature is a reprehensible act. I’m overstating the point, but it does have a negative ecological impact. Don’t throw coffee cups in the forest, or on the mountain peaks, but if you happen to be in the city, toss at will. Not only does littering in developed areas gainfully employ fleets of street sweepers, the negative consequences are purely asthetic. You are not hurting anything except the tidy sensibilities of others with your carelessly scattered burger wrappers. Once we moved in and destroyed all that was natural to create a humanoid paradise of asphalt and concrete we did about all the damage we could possible have done. It is naiive to think that littering even makes a difference.

I like living in clean places (with some extremist exceptions like Irvine, if you’ve ever had the pleasure of that haven of unsettling sterility), but it is not your responsibility to cater to my visual sensibilities. And in return, I vow not to cater to yours.

Libraries

Recently, I have renewed my passion for libraries.

During college, I appreciated them, but more in a utilitarian sort of way. I liked them because they were an easy place to study or nap on campus. I also came to enjoy the fact that by borrowing your text book from the library you could avoid paying for it at the bookstore. But all of these things were very practical.

Now I that studying and text books are no longer part of my daily life–at least not for the time being– I have rediscovered some of the more enriching aspects of these fine literary establishments.

As an economically challenged avid reader, I love the fact that I can check out book after book and entertain myself for weeks on end without paying anything (as long as I turn my books in on time). This guesture of good faith toward the community is touching to me. Knowing only a person’s address and name the library is willing to give you free access to all the books you could possibly want. I look up and down the aisles filled with worn books like a hungry child in a bakery examining pastry. It is literary grace.

After having rediscovered the wonders of the library, I have expanded my literary horizons. Now instead of only reading what I have to, or what I know I will like, I am able to experiment with genres and authors learning more about myself and the world around me. Some of the time I end up reading something that I don’t like or agree with, but there is no loss of money, only time and at this point I have plenty of that.  Libraries in this way allow people to discover themselves within their walls and pages. And for that I am incredibly grateful.

It was the middle of the day and the sun was beaming down hard. I was sitting on a ledge waiting for a friend of mine to get out of his therapist meeting. We were going to have lunch. I skipped my Calculus class because I was feeling down. I couldn’t bring myself to sit through another lecture, though I needed to go.

I was waiting on the corner of Victoria and State right across the street from Ce Dior. It’s an Italian restaurant I believe and I was admiring the little quaint curtains that framed the window. Then I looked down at my feet. I noticed a hole in the toe of my right boot, and it was my favorite pair of shoes. I started criticizing myself for not having a better job and being broke to the point where you can’t afford the simplest things you need. Then my mind wondered off to my friends. A couple is going through a divorce, and I’ve been trying to hear out both sides. A close friend of mine is being deployed back to the Marines though he was let go with an honorable discharge. It just felt like the world that I have worked so hard to build up was crumbling down all around me. It was one of those moments when you start to think, what is life worth living for if you don’t have anything to offer to it and it doesn’t have anything to offer you. I began to feel shame for letting go of my aspirations and goals. I began to kick myself about not sticking with school, and I started to understand what my mother always told me. “You’ll never be anything more than a maid.”

But the cars stopped passing by because the light was red. I looked up noticing that the sound had stopped. In a small bright red car, was a round woman. She had dirty blond hair with lighter streaks every here and there. She had rosy cheeks and must have been about forty. At first I looked past her. But I started looking at her. I noticed every detail, and probably because it took my mind off things for a moment. She had a dolphin swinging from her rear view mirror. It was blue, and looked like it was made out of a hard gel. She had creases on the outer edges of her eyes and was wearing a floral top. Her hair looked like the 1950’s bob and she looked happy. She rested her head on the top of her seat basking in the sunlight. I admired her joy. She turned to look at me and I like to think she felt what I was feeling at the moment. She held my gaze for a brief second, while most just turn and look away. She smiled at me. Her eyes scrunched up and her creases were easier to detect when she did. But she had a beautiful smile. And it made me smile.

This wasn’t just any ordinary smile though. It was a smile that made my heart skip a beat. I smiled inside and out. It was like light was dancing at my feet and I needed to get up and move away. I like to think that she knew all the work and struggles that have gone throughout my short life. And that she too, went through the same but made it out okay. I couldn’t take it. I looked back down at my shoes. When I looked back at her, she was resting her head against the seat again. This time, a soft and gentle smile was on her face while her eyes were closed. When the light turned green she drove off. But she made my day worth while. It was just her small generosity of sharing a smile with me. Sharing a moment of complete happiness. It washed over me and thinking about it now it seems like something that I just made up.

But I’ve decided to smile at random people more. Hopefully they’ll feel what I felt.

Considerate Smokers

I was first going to write about another topic from my Sociology class, but something happened this morning. So I have decided to blog about that instead.

I was waiting for the bus this morning, and once again it was late. This time by fifteen minutes. I just don’t understand why it is always late. It is meant to be an express bus, getting me to my destination sooner than the rest. But it ends up being about the same time because it is so late. That’s a different story.

Here’s some background information about my views on smoking cigarettes before we move on:

I am a smoker. I love cigarettes. But, I am very considerate of where I smoke and who I am smoking around. I don’t smoke around people when they are trying to eat, unless they are a smoker as well. Or I will politely ask if it is okay if I have one. I do not smoke around children and the elderly. I feel that they should be held on the highest ranks of who to not smoke around because I just want them to have the healthiest well being out of all. I will, on occasion, if I am sitting in a smoking area follow a person who walks by me and who detests cigarettes because they are walking through a place where I am suppose to be smoking. What will happen is that they will make some comment or do that loud “I’m hacking because you are smoking” kind of cough which just upsets me. So I will walk behind you while I am enjoying my cigarette. Come on folks, let’s be intelligent here. So I do not condemn smokers, but I do not try to enhance the addiction either. I feel that a lot of people who smoke have a “bad reputation” because they are not being considerate of someone else’s air. It’s a simple concept, so why do so many people not understand it?

There was an elderly lady waiting for the bus reading the paper. She was sitting next to me. I didn’t catch her name because we didn’t make any conversation. She seemed to be enjoying her paper, so I let her go on with that. She must have been about 70 years old and was hunched over probably due to the fact that her breasts were so saggy they were weighing her down. She wore this bucket/bonnet type hat and had what looked like a life vest on. She looked like a sweet old grandmother. The type who will bake you cookies when you come to visit and stroke your hair while you munch on those delectable delights.

A young couple came up and sat a few yards away from us. I would assume that they were of the ripe old age of 17 or 18. Over all, they looked like white trash. The boy was a pasty white and was wearing black jeans and a black shirt with some sort a white logo and it had a few holes in it. He had many freckles on his face and had a drunken glaze over his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was drunk, I wasn’t sure if he had just shot up some heroin, but he looked like he definitely had some sort of mental issues. Probably a horrible temper. His lady was small busted wearing a black tank top and some sort of black stretchy pants. She had on lavender kitten heels and was platinum blond. She had quite a bit of acne scars. They were keeping to themselves so I paid as much attention to them as I did the elderly lady next to me.

I got up to enjoy myself a cigarette. I walked away from the elderly lady and walked down by a few more feet away from the young couple. The young girl glared at me giving me that look, “I would come up with some sort of excuse to try and kick your ass right now” type of look. I focused on my cup of coffee and my lovely cigarette. The couple got up to allow themselves in my seat. I didn’t fault them for that. I mean, I did get up, and none of those seats are there for claiming anyways. They sat next to the elderly lady who was still reading her paper but eyeing the children next to her.

I knew something was going to happen. You could feel it in the air. That cold shiver flew up my spine and I knew at some point I would intervene during a fight to try and calm both sides down.

I was right.

The young girl then lit up a cigarette not caring about the elderly lady. Her boyfriend did the same. By then I had gotten myself another seat waiting for the bus just a few feet away. I hear some rustling and turned to see the elderly lady sitting next to me grumbling about something saying terms like “hope they die of lung cancer, that would serve her right.” and “bitch” I asked her if everything was okay.

“That girl over there started smoking a cigarette and I hate the way they smell,” she replied.

“I’m sorry about that,” were all the words that I could find in efforts to comfort her.

The younger man decided to get up and take some action against the elderly lady. He stood just inches away from her from the back of the seat and began to blow smoke in her vicinity. She whipped around and said, “You think you are so funny don’t you? Well you won’t be so funny when you die of lung cancer!!” The boy replied, “I do think I am funny. And you’re nothing more than some old bitch. So why should I care about you?”

I do not accept the way the elderly lady handled the situation, but I was very displeased with the younger boy. You should always treat the elderly with respect. So the term “bitch” threw me off my edge.

I turned around and I told him to go back and sit down where he was and stop disrupting this lady from her morning paper. He told me to go fuck myself. I replied, “I already did that this morning, thanks. But seriously, you are being very rude and it would probably make everyones’ morning run a little more smoothly if you just went back and kept to yourself.” He stalked off back to his sitting area and people were staring at all of us by that point. Him and his girlfriend were talking about something, I was hearing derogatory slander and I chose to ignore it. She stomped up to me and stammered on about me going back to my own country and that the clothing I chose to wear was hideous. But to me, they are just words. I tuned most of what she was saying out and read the paper that I had found. I looked up at her for the first time and there was anger in her face. I smiled at her. She asked me if I spoke English or (improvise with ping pang clang kind of noises). I looked at her puzzled and I told her, “Why, yes I do speak English. Why do you ask?” She turned red realizing that her slander wasn’t getting to me. I went back to reading the paper I had found. She knocked my cup of coffee out of my hands and it splashed all over her shoes. I looked down and shrugged. “I was almost finished with it anyways. And you just spilled it all over her shoes. You’ve made quite a mess.” She looked like she was about to hit me then I just smiled at her. “Instead of ME going back to my country, why don’t you go back to yours. I am assuming that you are making nothing of your life and can offer America nothing more than just coffee on your shoes. So why don’t you be a doll and go back and sit down so we can all finally have some peace.” She made some more Asian noises as she walked back. I grinned. The lady next to me started to talk to me about how inconsiderate teenagers are now these days and how people would never act that way when she was younger.

We ended up having this long discussion about how different people are and how they are always changing from generation to generation. She thanked me kindly as the bus rolled up. I tipped my head down and wished her the best of luck with her day. I hope things got easier for her, but I have a feeling that is just a first of many problems she will encounter today. And I am beginning to ask myself why.

Hey Jerks

Hey other authors: what is so important that you can’t post?  Some of us are moving, and that’s a valid excuse, but the rest of you are just being lazy!

Sorry I had to put this here, but I don’t know how I would even contact half of you!